On the Occasion
by midnight-blue
Summary: Sarah's birthday is a source of discovery for the [Fourth] Doctor, on the nature of earthbound traditions, and their meaning


**Title:** On the Occasion

**Author: **Kristin

**Rating: **G or PG

**Summary:** Sarah's birthday is a source of discovery for the Doctor, on the nature of earthbound traditions, and their meaning

**Pairing:** Four/Sarah Jane (not really romantic, but hints at it)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters, nor claim to (obviously wish I could)

**Notes:** I imagine it would be hard to pinpoint an exact date whilst traveling around in the TARDIS, so this is rather a loose concept, but I hope you can suspend belief for the sake of the story

* * *

It was a steep climb, and having to push the heavy, metallic thing resembling a bicycle (though quite clearly not, as she'd, only minutes ago, found out) only added to the annoyance she'd set out with. The twin suns of this planet were parallel with each other, their maroon glow transitioning to a violet luminance as they sunk lower on the horizon. Sarah had to admit it was a gorgeous sight, and as she reached the apex of the hill, she paused to appreciate the view.

She lessened her grip on the handlebars of the cycle -- honestly, with a designation like that, how was she to have known it handled completely opposite to the bicycles she was used to on Earth? In hindsight, she likely should have abstained from renting anything from a man who didn't speak and looked to be drinking from a flask on his hip. Pedalling forward, like she would have with a bike, only seemed to activate some sort of auto-pilot mechanism, causing the gears to lock, meanwhile propelling her forward at a faster-than-tolerable speed until she ultimately crashed into a bush.

The trauma, apparently, had been enough to exorcise the cycle of its demonic possession, and she had humbly gathered herself from the vines, immediately walking it back up the hill she'd careened down only minutes ago.

As she stood at the summit, leaning her legs against the cool metal, she allowed herself a chance to gather her thoughts. She was tired, certainly, but also a little despondent, and eager to simply return the cycle and collapse on her bed in the TARDIS, avoiding the Doctor altogether. She didn't want to feel the slight bit of bitterness taking form beside her irritation, but she did nonetheless.

Sarah realized she was sweating mildly; even with the evening gathering, it was still very hot, and she hadn't drank anything for a while. Putting one leg behind a tire to hold the cycle in place, she bent down to roll up the bottoms of both her pant legs until they reached her knees. It was then she realized that the bush she'd landed in must have been thornier than she'd first suspected, as it appeared to have cut through the fabric a bit. There was a series of jagged scratches still oozing on both her legs. She immediately looked at her arms, as she'd felt the thorns more prominently there, and noticed even more cuts, resembling zig-zag patterns. It was likely her face looked much the same, but as it was, the dull pain was secondary to the thirst and hunger she felt.

A part of her wondered what the Doctor's reaction would be to her appearance, as he likely hadn't realized she'd even wandered off. She knew he'd been irritated by her prodding him to determine the exact date today, but when she'd informed him it was her birthday, he'd been unusually casual about it.

He was quietly dismissive, simply ignoring her, though he likely hadn't intended for her to rent a cycle, crash it, and delay her expedition by an extra hour, at least.

She continued walking, ambling down the hill carefully so she didn't fall or lose control of the cycle. Returning the offending machine, she wandered back to the TARDIS, something which added yet another undesirable length of time, as she couldn't quite remember where it had landed. The Doctor was sitting on a bench when she reached him, playing with his yo-yo under the waning sunlight.

When he finally looked at her, he paused to get a deliberated view of her appearance. Her dungarees were rolled up to her knees, the skin of her legs and arms was blemished with misshapen cuts, some still oozing, and there were leaves sticking out of her hair. Despite how imposing she tried to look, with her hands pressed palm down against her hips, he couldn't help the slow smirk, equal parts amusement and bewilderment, that crossed his face. Brewing as well was a concern about her general well-being, assuming she was as miserable as she looked.

"Sarah Jane, you look as though you've had a bit of trouble," he stood, edging forward slowly.

"How astute of you, Doctor," she replied tightly, her hands still on her hips.

The cuts on her legs were mostly superficial, but those of her arms were deeper and more numerous. He kept moving towards her slowly, aware that for some reason she was rather irritated, and mostly with him, it seemed.

"Are you all right?" the smirk was replaced with a concerned frown.

"Obviously not," she sighed, at last dropping her hands to dangle her arms loosely at her sides.

He reached out furtively to grasp her right arm at her elbow, his fingertips ghosting against the angry markings as though they were a false wind. She went stiff at his touch and meekly tried to wrench away, but he tightened his fingers around her elbow and parted his lips in concentration.

"I'm intact, if that's what you mean. No broken bones, head's still attached," she tapped against her skull, as if to demonstrate its fortitude.

He held both of her hands, running his thumbs over hers for a few seconds before he released her, allowing her arms to dangle, once again, as they had been.

"But are you all right?" he insisted.

"You tell me," she smirked. "Given me the once-over, so what's the verdict, then?"

"Superficial cuts on your legs, deeper on your arms that will mend with some dressing, and worst of all," he paused casually, reaching up to touch her hair and remove the leaves still enmeshed there, "your hair seems to have taken some native flora hostage."

"It was a nasty hedge, and if I had to take some of its leaves with me, then so be it."

Sarah ran her hands in quick motion through her hair, suddenly not caring that it was likely unattractively tousled.

"Anyway, look, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to settle into the TARDIS for some biscuits and tea and clean myself up and forget this day ever happened."

She started to walk towards the TARDIS and the Doctor slung his scarf over his right shoulder as he followed her, quickly catching up as his long strides overtook her shorter ones. Once they were inside, he grabbed her elbow again.

"But why would you want to forget this day? It is your birthday, after all."

Sarah shrugged out of his grip.

"You _knew_? You left me to think you were too busy adjusting the solar...matrix, or whatever it was you were doing, to bother with me and then I rent that stupid thing, whatever _that_ was, only to wind up on the wrong side of a hedge with nothing but an empty stomach and a dry mouth and half a mind to avoid you for the next day or two."

She sighed heavily, huffing breath out of the corner of her mouth so her bangs flew up with the force of air, then wiped a hand across her forehead.

"Honestly, Sarah, the TARDIS doesn't have solar matrix capability. And I have fully functioning ear drums, I assure you. I heard every word you said."

"That may be, Doctor, but you have a slow tongue on occasion. Occasions, that matter, it seems."

She went to cross her arms, but brought them down immediately as the tender flesh rubbed together. The Doctor approached her cautiously again, but perhaps her fatigue and frustration were compounding her usually stubborn streak, because she didn't even stiffen as he clasped her wrist, leading her to the infirmary to tend her wounds.

As she sat on the table, allowing the Doctor to dab at the cuts with what she assumed were items resembling peroxide and neospirin (if not necessarily in the forms she recognized), she felt the tension of the day fleeing her and resigned to the notion that the Doctor was unable to acknowledge an observance he likely overlooked personally. A Time Lord, she surmised, had little regard for birthdays.

"I really don't know what the fuss is about. You humans come up with the silliest reasons to celebrate."

"Aren't you the one always saying how limited human lives are, Doctor? Shouldn't we be entitled to enjoy the day we were born, since we have such a fleeting lifetime?"

The Doctor pondered her statement.

"When you put it that way...yes, I suppose my earlier conjecture that it's simply a superfluous human tradition was perhaps a bit hasty. But don't you already celebrate every year with your New Year's festivals?"

He dabbed at the deeper cuts near her elbows with some gauze, his face inscrutable but concentrated.

"Yes, but we're just celebrating a new year with that holiday, not toasting the fact that someone still exists, year after year. It's more personal, special. You know, on occasion, people like to feel they're important to others, that they're not so easily overlooked."

The Doctor paused in his ministrations, lifting her right hand to get a closer look at the laceration extending from her knuckles to her wrist. But his eyes wouldn't meet hers.

"You make it sound as though it's some sort of struggle to survive, and by making it to your birth day every year, you've achieved victory through longevity."

Sarah pulled her hand from the Doctor's grip, grabbing the gauze and various medicinal agents he'd been using as well.

"Oh yes, and if we've been thoroughly decent all year, we get a gold star and certificate of achievement. Honestly, Doctor, there's nothing more to say about it. We were all born on one distinct day, we celebrate that fact and wish for more. Now, if you'll oblige, I would like to be alone while I finish cleaning the souvenirs of my lovely seaside expedition."

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but promptly shut it when she fixed his upward glance with a hardened stare. He did, however, reach two fingers out to brush against her left cheek gingerly.

"Don't forget this one," he said softly, standing from his position. For a moment, he watched her dab at the few remaining uncleansed cuts, his pointer finger running slowly back and forth across his chin. Finally, he left, tossing one end of his scarf over a shoulder.

Sarah sighed, this time softly, then finished cleaning herself up, checking in the mirror for facial cuts she may have missed. Running a hand through the frenetic strands of her hair, she shrugged at her reflection and sought relief in a hot shower, the water somehow invitingly abrasive against her currently blemished skin.

Some time later, she had folded herself into loose bottoms and an oversized sweat shirt, having dressed the deeper and more severe of her lacerations to prevent irritation. The Doctor found her, reclined on a couch in the library, hair unbrushed and damp, eating grapes and reading Sherlock Holmes.

He pushed the brim of his hat up, dug his hands into his pockets, and took a seat across from her, inclining his head to catch her eye.

"'A Scandal in Bohemia,'" she muttered, anticipating what he was about to ask.

As soon as he opened his mouth, she spoke again, "And don't say a word about it; I was nearly through _The Sign of the Four_ when you spoiled it for me. I want to savor the mystery this time 'round."

The Doctor ran a quick hand down the length of her hair.

"Feeling better, then? Hot shower, sustenance, and a decent thriller to close the day? Yes, quite the perfect conclusion, I'd say. Just one thing missing."

"Foil a scheme to destroy the universe? I know it disappoints you, but I really don't miss those days as much as you might imagine I do."

He stole a few grapes from her plate. "I have to rethink my repertoire then."

Sarah rolled her eyes, raising the book higher to block her view of him. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled by the literary impediment.

"Why start now?" she spoke, sardonically. "You know, it's nice sometimes to be bruised just because you fell off a bike...thing. I've had my fill of adventure for the day, what more could I possibly want?"

"A gift. To be precise, a birthday gift."

The Doctor reached into his pocket and produced a silver object, which Sarah immediately recognized, upon closer inspection, as a compass. She didn't know whether to laugh or be touched. Or both.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" she teased, her mouth curling into a tentative smile as she set the book down on her thighs.

He smiled back at her as he replied, "Well, you _do_ have a penchant for getting lost, my Sarah Jane. I want to ensure you always find your way back. And there's no reason you shouldn't, now you've got proper directions. It's set to find the TARDIS. Quite extraordinary that I knew to assemble it, too, given that I ignored your monologue about human birth days and their importance and how to acknowledge them."

"All right, you," she swatted his arm playfully, turning the compass over in her fingers, touching the glass encasing the directional hand.

"Did I do it properly?" he prodded, leaning in to better gauge her reaction to the gift.

"What?" she met his eyes now, keeping a firm grip on the compass.

"Acknowledge the birth day. _Your_ day of birth, precisely."

"Oh, yes, this is...more than I expected. I love it, Doctor, really. But you couldn't have said something earlier?"

"It had occurred to me, but...what would I say?"

Sarah leant forward, crossing her legs beneath her.

"Well, on Earth, we usually--"

The Doctor grasped her shoulders enthusiastically, smiling widely.

"I'm glad this is the day of your birth, Sarah Jane!"

Sarah smiled at the pride in his voice.

"We usually just say 'Happy Birthday,' but I quite like that."

The Doctor removed his hands from her shoulders, still smiling, then stole a few more grapes from her plate and joined her on the couch, sitting sideways. Sarah studied the compass, intrigued with its ostensible simplicity, then turned it over to view some etchings on the back which she recognized to be constellations.

"Doctor, will this compass do me on Earth as well, or is it only set to find the TARDIS?"

He swallowed his last grape, not meeting her gaze.

"It will always lead you home," he said, cryptically.

"So that home--"

"Whichever home you're nearest to. Or want to go back to."

It wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last time, that Sarah considered her attachment to her earthbound home, and the one she felt rooted in. She wanted to be on Earth again, see some old friends, especially on a day like this. She wanted to take a sabbatical from the constant trouble she found herself mired in, but she didn't want to return at the risk of losing the Doctor's presence in her life altogether. A part of her wondered how pragmatic it was to think she could return to Earth on occasion to feel a sense of normalcy, while being able to maintain the relationship (whatever _it_ was) she'd cultivated with the Doctor by still traveling with him the majority of the time.

One home she'd grown older in.

One home she'd grown up in.

One home with friends.

One home with her best friend.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said at last, reaching out to hug him around his shoulders. He turned to smile at her, patting her hand before she quickly pulled away.

"No endings on days like this. I think that's why I'm so fond of birthdays."

"Yes, I quite like them myself," the Doctor agreed, wistfully.

He turned his body slightly to allow himself access to her hair again, grasping a few of the strands fondly and letting go just as quickly.

"I thought the leaves were quite becoming," he smirked, prompting her to swat his arm and throw a grape at his face, which he caught in his hand and ate.

The Doctor stood, grabbing the book from Sarah's lap and handing it back to her, making sure to keep her place.

"Finish the story. You'll thoroughly enjoy it."

She nodded and watched his retreating figure for a second before engaging her thoughts in the world of Sherlock Holmes once more.

"Oh, and Sarah."

Sarah looked his way.

"I _am_ glad for this day."

_fin._


End file.
